


Three Lights Are Lit, but the Fourth One's Out

by orphan_account



Series: Black and Grey [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry can't see color, Louis loves him anyway, M/M, Past Character Death, harry's dad is kinda a jerk, inferred depression, it's a really minor one, it's really cute, loads of fluff, nothing major, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being born with an extremely severe Color Vision Dificiency (Achromatopsia), Harry often felt left out, or on a seperate plane than the rest of the world. He couldn't see any color other than greys and blacks, and living with a disinterested father, it took quite a toll on the confidence and self-worth that Harry wanted to have. He was at a complete loss of hope until he met a wonderful boy who appreciated him for everything he did (and didn't) have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Louis and they get along.

The world had never been bright.  
  
Dark, dull, and menacing at times, but never bright. As everyone marvled at the beauty at the leaves changing colors during the fall, Harry stood back, trying and failing to imagine what they looked like. While his friends took a moment to appreciate the blueness of the sky on a particular day, Harry looked up too, trying to will himself to see what others saw. Sometimes, he thought he could see it. He thought he could see a flash of what he thought was color - if only for less than a second. He swore, he did have his moments when he saw the "color" that everyone talked about. Of course, he knew that he didn't acutally see it. He knew that it was merely his overactive imagination playing tricks and teasing and decieving, because he was reminded far too often (from the moment he awoke to the moment he laid back down) that he was different. Not in a good way, not in a very special way at all, just. Different. He didn't need to be told twice.  
  
He was, though. Constantly reminded of what he couldn't and should be able to see. His father thought it was hilarious, of course. Ever since Harry was a mere child, his father would always laugh at him when he couldn't decipher one color from another. Not only could he not differentiate the colors, but he couldn't _see_ Them, either. As five-year-old Harry sat in the front of the class with a furrow in his brow because he didn't understand the difference between blue and yellow and pink ("What color is this?" *Shrug* "And this?" *Another shrug* "What do you mean you don't know?"), Harry had several appointments set up with doctors.  
  
The doctors finally told him that he was seeing shades of grey and black and sometimes white. He couldn't see any other color and that was final. Which still to this day frustrates Harry because what even are colors? What do they look like? He couldn't even comprehend them and no one could explain them, so he was left to his colorless, lifeless, seemingly dark world.  
  
It surely didn't help when his mum died in a car accident less than a year later. According to his father, he was entirely at fault. Apparently it was all of the stress of researching Harry's disorder that caused his mum to get distracted and swerve off of the road. Harry was at school (first day of year one!) when his father came to pick him up early, explaining that they needed to run a few errands. Little did he know, those "errands" entailed going down to the hospital to see his mum hooked up in every way possible, her last breath approaching faster and faster. It was a terrifying sight to see and Harry wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.  
  
He didn't have to, though. Because Harry didn't have enemies. Nor did he have friends. Being an introvert, and quite isolated from the mass population, he didn't have many people that he wanted to talk to or that wanted to talk to him. It was okay, though. As long as Harry had his books and songs where he didn't need color to understand anything, he was fine.  
  
Needless to say, school wasn't ever his fotré. Well, the social element that is. He got good grades, got along with his teachers well enough, but was always uncomfortable with the large amount of people he was forced to be around for hours at a time.  
  
Nevertheless, Harry woke up on Monday, August 17th, ready to start his first day of Junior year. It had been a lazy summer, and besides his job at The Last Record Store, he hadn't been very busy, allowing for plenty of time for rest.  
  
Regardless of his strong desire to continue laying in bed and never move again, Harry got up and proceeded with his morning routine. It was only when he was opening the front door trying to be as quiet as possible in hopes of not waking his father, he heard a shuffle from behind him. He turned around to see his dad standing there, rubbing an eye and furrowing a brow at Harry.  
  
"Where're you going?" He asked, stretching his hands above his head.  
  
"School," Harry responded simply. His father nodded, making some sort of grunt of approval as Harry slipped out of the door without further explanation.  
  
There was heavy traffic on the way there, but considering Harry wasn't eligible to drive, he didn't need to worry about it. The school looked relatively the same as it had last year, with a new mural in one of the breezeways, trying to inspire students to "live out loud" or "stop the world" or some other fucking cliché. Harry noticed the group of students getting high while leaning against the mural, and he couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the irony.  
  
Right as Harry was about to step into his first class, he noticed somebody from across the way, leaning against the wall to a classroom with his head tilted back. From what Harry could tell, the boy had feathery hair, and - wow, an amazing body. He was wearing a fitted T-shirt that easily revealed his curvy figure and the boy's Vans didn't do anything to justify his small height. Besides that, though, the boy was simply beautiful. As if he knew he was being thought about, he lifted his head suddenly, and their eyes immediately locked.  
  
The boy had striking eyes. Harry didn't know exactly why he was picking up on that, but they were a bright shade of grey that he had never seen before. They almost sparkled in the sunlight and it took every ounce of willpower not to run up to him and examine the orbs up close. Either way, they were absolutely beautiful and it definitely complimented the rest of his pretty face and delicate figure.  
  
Harry gave a small smile and turned away, feeling his face turn hot; confused as to why he was feeling so bashful all of a sudden. Apparently, the other boy didn't mind, because when Harry snuck another quick glance back at him, he was smirking, right before he turned as another person came up to his side and greeted him.  
  
Harry turned away for real this time, sinking into a seat in the back of the class, trying to center his thoughts, but it was hard when the most beautiful boy on the planet was constantly racing to the forefront of his mind. It was only half an hour later when Harry stated paying attention, realizing that he missed the entire first half of his teacher's lecture.  
  
_This is not a good way to start the school year._  
  
****  
  
His first three classes went by just fine, and if he dozed of during the lot of them, then, well, no one would have to know. It was only during his fourth class that he found himself completely bored out of his mind due to the fact that as soon as everyone got their gym clothes and lockers, they just sat around waiting for the bell to ring as the teacher promised they'd get started right away the next time. Harry sat all the way at the top of the bleachers, plugging his earbuds in and scrolling through Instagram.  
  
Once Harry had refreshed his feed about a million times, he decided to tuck his phone away in his pockets and just take a look around the room. He let his eyes roam and, of course, nothing caught his interest. There was a group of girls in the corner giggling about one thing or another, while a group of guys sat around each other on the bleachers, intermittently erupting with loud noises. Harry was about to put his head back down and look through his phone once more, before something - or something _one_ caught his attention.  
  
They running into the gym, kicking a football in front of them, and shooting it into the goal on the other side of the building. He raised his hands up and shouted "Goal!" just as two people were running in from behind him and one of the boys tackled him to the ground. The one that got tackled quickly gets back up, laughing and the second his eyes scrunched up, Harry recognized him immediately.  
  
It was the really cute bloke from earlier who had caught his eye. He looked so calm and relaxed now, joking around with the two other boys as they went to go fetch the football for another round.  
  
There was something about this boy that just seemed... Different. In a good way, though. He gave off a different vibe compared to the other students. Maybe it was the brightness of his eyes, or the general nonchalance of his figure. Either way, Harry would be lying if he didn't admit the fact that not only way he extremely fit, but he was rather charming.  
  
"Fuck, he is so hot," Harry heard someone say from beside him. He turned his head slightly to see that two girls and one guy were sat near him in their own talking circle. And so what if Harry maybe turned down the volume of his earbuds to listen to their conversation? No one had to know.  
  
"Which one?" The guy asked.  
  
"They're all pretty fit," The second girl commented.  
  
The first girl sighed and then added, "No, the one kicking around the football right now. He just shot a goal...?"  
  
"Oh, him?" The second girl exchanged glances with the guy and then laughed, "Right, okay."  
  
"What? You don't think so?" The first girl asked.  
  
"Well, of course I think so, anyone with eyes can see that Louis Tomlinson is fit as fuck," The second girl said.  
  
_Louis Tomlinson,_ Harry thought, _It suits him._  
  
"But he's also gay as fuck," She finished.  
  
"What? How do you know?" The first girl asked, completely baffled.  
  
"We were on the footie team together last year," The guy chimed in, "He dated my best friend for awhile, actually."  
  
Well. Harry turned his earbuds back up to full volume, smirking quietly to himself because he now knew that the apparently well-known Louis Tomlinson was single and potentially interested. However, Harry quickly turned away the thought because there was no way a guy like him would even take a second glance at a guy like Harry.  
  
He continued watching Louis and his friends play football and right before the bell rang, he caught Harry staring and threw a wink his way.  
  
What. No. That didn't just happen. Harry blushed and looked down, completely oblivious to the group of people sitting next to him, now staring with their jaws dropped. The bell rang right as that happened, though, so Harry got his things as quickly as possible and left the building with his head down. He would be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat when Louis winked at him. It was something hadn't really experienced before, actually. Sure, he had guys and girls flirting with him occasionally, but it wasn't anything major. Nothing that really made Harry want to follow up on them or take them up for that offer. He had even begun to question whether he could was attracted to people at all until he saw Louis for the first time that morning.  
  
Harry kept his head down, replaying the scene over and over again in his head. He remembers that other than the two girls and the guy that were sat a few feet away from him, there weren't many people around him, for they all were either further down the bleachers or across the room entirely. So, there was no doubting that Louis definitely aimed his wink at Harry. Then again, it could've just been a tick. Yeah, that's totally what it was. Louis had a tick in his eye. Yup.  
  
Either way, Harry refused to count it as anything significant because he probably does that to everyone, right? Just to make himself appear a bit more charming?  
  
Harry found himself in front of his locker, trying and failing to get the lock open. His thoughts were so clouded by a man he had yet to even talk to, but he still found his mind completely wandering to the beautiful bloke so much so that he couldn't focus enough to open his own damn lock. He blew out a puff of air, turning around and leaning against his locker, shutting his eyes in defeat.  
  
_School sucks._  
  
****  
  
The last bell of the last class finally rang (did time decide to slow down today or what?) and Harry was finally on his way to walk the three blocks back to his house. It wasn't very far, yet it wasn't that close either. Really, unless he wanted to take the bus, he didn't have much of a choice. He hadn't even reached the end of the first block yet before he heard someone's footsteps quicken behind him.  
  
_I swear if I get jumped on the first day..._  
  
Harry continued walking at his own pace with his earbuds in at a relatively low volume until that someone's footsteps started to slow down again, and it was only a second before Harry realized they were walking in time with his. He turned to his left and - oh, whaddya know. Louis Tomlinson himself was right next to Harry. How did that happen?  
  
"Hi," He offered his hand, "I'm Louis."  
  
_I know._  
  
"Harry," He offered back, shaking his hand. Harry was slightly confused as to what was going on right now before Louis spoke up, "Sorry if you didn't want anyone walking with you. I just - we both seemed to be heading the same way, and I was never one to be alone for too long."  
  
Harry simply nodded, and went back to listening to the music flowing through his ears. He wasn't the type to talk much, especially really fit, charming boys who decide on a whim to walk with him back home one day. No matter how bad he wanted to talk, it just wasn't his thing.  
  
"So. Feeling optomistic about this school year, yet? I find that the first days are always the most fun," Louis sounded like he was being completely serious, but he had a mischevious smirk playing on his lips.  
  
Harry chuckled, "No, not really. 'M not a big fan of first days, if I'm honest."  
  
"Me neither. They're shit."  
  
And Harry had no idea why he found that hilarious, but he did, as he went into his whole tilt-my-head-back-and-laugh-extremely-loud thing, that left him sort of embarassed, because it wasn't even that funny. However, Louis looked rather pleased with himself, so maybe Harry didn't feel so embarassed about it. Harry feels his face go hot as he looks down at his feet, and he wonders if Louis can tell. They ease into easy conversation about surface things, as they continue along the road together. They end up walking far too close to each other being complete strangers and all, but Harry didn't mind and he didn't think Louis did either ("Your shoulder keeps bumping mine!" "That's what happens when you're so close to me!" "What if I like being close to you?" *Harry proceeded to choke on his own spit*). They finally came to the street that Harry lived on, and he wondered if Louis lived on this street, too.  
  
"Well, this is my house," Harry says, stopping in front of a quaint little place. Louis runs his eyes over it.  
  
"It's cute," He says, a small smile playing on his face, "I like the color."  
  
Oh, right. Color.  
  
The weird thing was, Harry had almost forgotten he couldn't see color while he was with Louis. They had gotten along so fluently that Harry seemed to forget everything else, actually. He could spend the rest of his day talking with this boy, and it already felt as if they'd known each other for years, because of how comfortable they were already. It was nice, actually. A nice change from Harry's usual deprived and lonely world. He liked it.  
  
Harry just nodded, heading up the steps, Louis in tow.  
  
"Would you like to see inside?" He asked, after noting that his dad's car wasn't in the driveway. Harry father didn't know he was gay, and it's not like anything would happen between Louis and Harry anyway, but just in case. He had always been two steps ahead.  
  
Louis shrugged, "Yeah, sure. I would love to see where you keep that stash of nautical firgurines." A smile bloomed across Louis' face as if he were the most clever bloke on the planet. Harry just fondly rolled his eyes at Louis' reference to an earlier conversation they had. Harry twisted the knob, and started looking for his keys when he noticed it was locked.  
  
"Shit," He cursed, digging through his backpack trying to find the key.  
  
"I can't find my keys," He mumbled more to himself than anything. Louis frowned, and Harry nodded after he asked if he was locked out.  
  
Louis looked to the floor, and then asked, "Do you wanna come over to my place? You know, for just a bit. 'Till you mum gets home or something." Harry decided to ignore correcting him on the fact that he didn't have a mum, but instead took this moment to notice that this was the first time he had ever seen Louis look shy. Or any derivative there of.  
  
"Are you sure? That wouldn't be, like... bothersome or anything?" Harry asked, giving up his search for the house keys.  
  
Louis quickly looked up with bright eyes and nodded, "No, we could just. Like, hang out in my room or something. I have a really big family, so."  
  
"Yeah. I-I'd like that. Going to your house, that is."  
  
Louis chuckled fondly and grabbed Harry by the wrist before setting off, saying something about how his house was just around the corner, but he wasn't paying much attention because he was too busy focusing on how his delicate fingers felt so smooth pressed into the expanse of his wrist.  
  
****  
  
They entered Louis' house and it was surprisingly quiet. Louis explained that it was usually much louder, but the twins attended an afterschool program, and the youngest twins ("Two sets of twins?" "Yeah, it runs in the family.") were in a daycare. Meanwhile, the older girls were merely in their rooms probably on Facebook or some shit. Louis' mum was quite pleasant, and Harry could definitely see where he got his sense of humor. Louis seemed really comfortable around his mum, and to be honest, it made Harry a bit nostalgic for what he could've had.  
  
They were now sitting on Louis' bed, Harry sitting crossed-legged and Louis with his feet straight out, as they watched "F.R.I.E.N.D.S." It was hilarious - one of Harry's favorite shows, as they sat next to each other impersonating the American accents.  
  
"They speak so weird," Harry commented, popping a crisp into his mouth.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't be talking if I were you," Louis retorted, looking at Harry with that ever-so-fond gaze that he had seemed to perfect over the past few hours they had been together.  
  
Harry frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"You mean no one has ever told you that you could qualify for 'The Most Morbid Speaker of the Year' award?"  
  
Harry tried to look offended, but failed miserably as he just broke out into loud laughter. Louis' smile threatened to overtake his face as he kept his eyes on the laughing Harry. Harry calmed down after a bit (was it even really that funny?), yet Louis made no effort to turn his gaze away.  
  
Harry looked back at him and suddenly became self-conscious because Louis was openly staring at him and he wasn't used to this and is there something on his face?  
  
"What?" Harry finally asked.  
  
Louis shrugged, "Nothing. You just - I like your laugh."  
  
Harry blushed and looked into his suddenly far-too-interesting crisp bag, mumbling a quiet "thank you" as Louis forced his attention back to the television where Monica was entering the screen.  
  
"Oh come on!" Louis shouted at the screen, startling Harry.  
  
He looked at Louis, wide-eyed, "What?"  
  
"I mean, look at her blouse. Why would anyone think that color looked good on a shirt?" It was meant as a joke, but Harry just seemed to stare at the screen, squinting at it for a few seconds before shrugging.  
  
"What? Come on, Harry. Don't tell me that's, like, your favorite color or something."  
  
Harry scratched the back of his neck, setting his bag of crisps aside, "I really wouldn't know, I guess."  
  
Louis merely raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I can't, um. I can't really. I don't - I can't see color?" Harry meant to state, but it came out as more of a question than anything.  
  
Louis' eyebrows now fully shot up, "What do you mean you can't see color?"  
  
Harry sighed, looking into his lap. He hated having this conversation. Although his disorder didn't have an effect on his mental functions, people tended to treat him differently after this. He didn't know exactly why (well, yes he did but it still didn't make sense), but people never looked at him the same - often treated him with some sort of pity or something. He didn't like it, so not many people knew, actually. He only told people when it was necessary and, of course, all of his teachers knew because it was on his file and they always asked about it before the first day in class.  
  
He didn't want to tell Louis - not now anyway. They were getting along so well and if this would make Louis treat him differently then he'd rather not discuss it. Nevertheless, he went on.  
  
"Well, like. I only see blacks and whites, basically," Harry snuck a glance up in Louis' direction, and he just continued staring at Harry with interest written all across his face. And okay, Louis didn't look like he was about to start coddling Harry or taking sympathy upon him, but it was nice to see something else on his face. Interest. Okay. He could work with that.  
  
"What? You're shitting me, Harold," A smirk played on Louis' lips.  
  
"No, I'm not!" Harry giggled - yes, _giggled_ and he was really going to regret that later, "Ever since I was born I've been only able to see blacks and whites. Honestly."  
  
"Are you serious? Your entire life?"  
  
Oh, fuck. Here comes the _wow, I don't even know how to picture that,_ and the _oh, my, that must be hard._  
  
Harry just nodded, waiting for the inevitable.  
  
But, instead, Louis just nodded, all of the suspicion in his eyes gone.  
  
"Isn't that frustrating, though?"  
  
Well, there's a new one.  
  
"How do you mean?" Harry asked, now looking at Louis fully.  
  
"Everybody talks about color all of the time. 'The sky is blue, that shirt is orange.' I'm sure you've gotten thousands of compliments on your eyes, as well," Louis looked a bit angered as if he was effected by Harry not being able to see color. Which, okay, was kinda odd. Either way, Harry just chose to focus on Louis' speech rather than his vibe.  
  
"My eyes?"  
  
"Oh, don't be daft. You know everyone loves those green eyes of yours."  
  
Wow, this conversation was surely taking an unanticipated turn. Harry knew good and well that he had nice eyes. People had told him so. He knew they were green (whatever that meant) and that apparently it was a rare eye color, so yes, he did get compliments on his eyes every so often. This was different, though. He'd never had his heart skip a beat when someone said something nice about his eyes. He'd never felt his face got hot when someone complimented his appearance. That usually never happened. So far, as Harry was witnessing in so many different ways, Louis has an affect on him. Which, probably isn't a very good thing considering they'd only just met a few hours ago, but hey. Who could blame him? Louis was charming, funny, sweet, and kind of nonchaant about everything and it was just so easy to be drawn in. Not to mention he had a beautiful face, a killer body, and was just really admirable overall.  
  
_Stop, Harry,_ he scolded himself, _You shouldn't be thinking things like this._  
  
So, instead of maybe making a bit of banter at the comment, Harry of course just looked down again and played with his fingers. After about a moment of silence, Louis continued.  
  
"You must have alot of patience."  
  
Harry just shrugged, trying not to think about how that sentence came out in only a whisper.  
  
"I try," Is all he contributed. Neither of them really knew how, but they were both now shoulder-to-shoulder, so the fact that they were facing each other just made Harry's body heat raise a bit more. Not in a sexual way, no. Just in the this-guy-who-I-just-met-but-is-really-cool-has-his-face-two-inches-from-mine kind of way. Yeah. Right.  
  
Harry looked back up at Louis, so now their faces really were a mere few inches apart and their bodies were rather close. Louis licked his lips and - oh. Okay. Harry can take a hint. He had never been in a situation like this before, though, so he wasn't sure what to expect. Except, he didn't really have to expect anything, because suddenly Louis' bedroom door was flying open.  
  
"Lou, do you-" A young girl with long, bleached hair stood in the door way with one foot in and one foot out. Her mouth was open in a small "O" shape as her eyes flickered between Louis and Harry.  
  
She cleared her throat, "Right," She started slowly, "Sorry. I'll just. Um, I'll ask you later. Or something. Yeah." And as quick as she came, she left, closing the bedroom door on her way out, causing Louis and Harry to sit there in what had proved itself to be an awkward silence.  
  
After a few moments, Harry took a deep breath and finally said, "My dad should be home by now." Louis looked at him quizically, and Harry couldn't help but feel a slight pang at how the distance between them had increased.  
  
"I should get going." Louis nodded at that and hopped off of the bed.  
  
"I'll walk you, then," He stated suddenly. Harry just looked at him, before a smile started growing on both of their faces, and tension completely gone within a few minutes.  
  
They walked side-by-side, enjoying the comfortable silence that had eneloped them. Well, not exactly a silence. Louis was blabbering on about how it got so much colder because it was almost a bit warm earlier, and they're in August so why is it so cold? Harry laughed at all the right things and chimed in at all the right places, and it all just felt so... Natural. Domestic, almost. As if they had known each other for years and this was just a normal routine for them.  
  
"Well. Thanks for walking me," Harry said as he stopped right in front of his house.  
  
"No problem, Harold. I, uh. I really enjoyed our time together. You're kinda alright," Louis' cheeks turned a darker shade of grey and Harry wondered if his face was getting hot.  
  
"Kinda alright? C'mon, admit it- I'm amazing company," And Harry didn't know where this sudden burst of confidence was coming from, but if it had anything to do with the fondness in Louis' eyes, then he was completely and utterly fucked.  
  
"Oh, get off it," Louis joked, playfully pushing his shoulder. They both laughed and then came to a silence because they knew this was the part they said goodbye. Neither would admit that they didn't want to.  
  
"Hey, um," Harry said after a beat, "Do you think I could, um. Can - well, like if you have a phone I could get your number? Like, if you want to text or something. If not, that's cool, I-"  
  
"Harry," He cut him off, chuckling, "Give me your phone." Harry handed it over easily, feeling his face go hot again and he wondered if his own cheeks turned a darker shade of grey. Or whatever color it actually was. Red? Blue? Green? He couldn't even picture these colors, so he liked to just settle with his greys and blacks and whites. Sometimes he even got those mixed up, too. Fuck everything, honestly.  
  
Louis typed in his digits with his small hands ("My hands are not tiny, Harold." "Whatever you say..." "They are manly and rugged.") and handed it back to him, Harry fumbling to take it and slide it back into his pocket because of his large, still-not-very-manly hands.  
  
"I'll text you," Harry said.  
  
"I look forward to it," Louis winked before finally walking away, leaving a trail of fucking pixie dust at his feet.  
  
"Until next time, young child," Louis called over his shoulder, knowing good and well that Harry was still standing there, flustered by Louis' mere presence. After he gained some composure, he finally went inside the house (thank God it was unlocked) and slipped into his room, ignoring his dad who was sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, watching some sports channel. As usual, he didn't acknowledge Harry's prescence at all, just merely shot him a quick glance - clearly more preoccupied with which team was winning than the fact that his son had just returned. Harry immediately flopped onto his bed, rethinking the day's events. He went to school, suffered through boring first day stuff, met an extremely fit boy, and went home with him. Yup. Typical day.  
  
Yet, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face whenever he thought of Louis. And for the first time in awhile, he allowed himself that. The satisfying feeling of a friend. The rest of the year wasn't looking so bleak anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's life is kinda shit, but Louis is a good guy.

Two months. It had been two months of talking, laughing, hanging out on weekends and after school, study sessions (that usually just ended up with who can fit more popcorn in their mouth) and late-night talks over the phone. It had been two months of Louis and more Louis and then even more Louis. Not that Harry was complaining, of course. The witty boy was on his mind constantly, and if that distracted him from his studies, then...Well, only he had to know, really. It wasn't like he had anyone to care about his grades, anyways, so he was all clear in that area.  
  
Every once in awhile, Harry felt a pang in his chest at what he couldn't have. What he wanted to have. A mum. He wanted a mum. Was that such a big request? On those restless nights where he couldn't sleep because his father came home drunk again and was in an angry rant with someone over the phone, or because he was getting extremely frustrated at all of the colors people mentioned and how beautiful they were and how he couldn't see any of them, or simply because he needed comfort. He craved companionship. His sister left long ago and had no interest of keeping in contact, so Harry was emotionally and almost literally alone. He wasn't too fond of complaining, though - he had been alone for most of his life. Sad as that may sound, it was comfortable (sometimes) and completely bearable (less than sometimes), but either way, Harry had just simply thought that this is how some people were meant to be. Some people were born to lead lonely lives in order that others may lead wonderful and social ones. It didn't bother him, really.  
  
That is, until he met Louis Tomlinson. Until he met Louis Tomlinson, he had become content with his loneliness and given up on trying to find someone to be compatible with. Until he met Louis Tomlinson, he didn't feel empty at night (as if something was missing) when he went to bed at night, wishing that _someone_ could be there with him. Until Louis Tomlinson, he hadn't even realized he was into guys. Not in that way, anyway.  
  
It's been two months and Harry Styles is head-over-heels for Louis Tomlinson. Literally and figuratively.  
  
So, as he sat in bed, tears staining his cheeks, his thumb hovered over Louis' contact name. He wasn't having a particularly good day. It was a Saturday, and normally, Harry's Saturdays consisted of way too many hours on Tumblr, but today, he came home to a drunk father. Which, okay, didn't happen too often, but it wasn't a surprise when it did. Harry hated it. Absolutely despised it. His father always got exremely angry and then emotional, and it just - it wasn't fair. Today, he seemed intent on making sure Harry remembered that it was his fault that his mother died. All Harry's fault. He was hardly a child and he couldn't really remember anything, but yeah. It was apparently all his fault. So, his father pinned him against the wall, hands bunched in his shirt and alcohol breath all over Harry's face as he shouted profanities that Harry hadn't even heard before. He pulled Harry away from the wall and then slammed him back into it, and it made his shoulders throb. That and one swift slap to the face, left Harry crying in his sheets wondering how this became his life and would it really be that horrible if he just died right here?  
  
He just sat there for a few moments, contemplating his life. He didn't like it very much. He had become content with that fact, though. It was okay. Sitting in his bed, shoulders shaking, and tears running his eyes dry, Harry realized that maybe his life didn't have to be so bad. He had Louis, right? Louis was there for him. Harry had only known Louis for two months, which, in reality, wasn't very long. However, it felt like they had known each other for years. They communicated on surface levels ("Mrs. James is so weird." "What? Not even." "Harry, she brought pictures of her cats to show the class."), they joked about too many things, yet they also connected on a deep level ("I don't know. I just feel so disconnected from the world. Everyone can see except for me." "You can see, Harry. Just differently." "Yeah, I guess."). But, when Harry finally pressed the call button, he didn't know what he was expecting. He suddenly started to get this panicky feeling in his gut. What was he going to say if Louis even picked up the phone? Oh shit, why did he call. He should just hang up right now. Yes, hang up and-  
  
"Hello?" A sleepy voice on the other line said. Harry didn't know exactly what to say and he felt just so pathetic in the moment. He never needed other people before this, so why start now?  
  
"Lou," Harry began, before he was choked off by an awful sob.  
  
"Haz? Hazza, what's wrong? What's the matter? What time is it?" Louis still had drowziness laced all throughout his voice, and it made Harry wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him every morning.  
  
Instead, though, Harry looked at the clock on his bedside table, "One thirty."  
  
He heard Louis curse on the other line, and he could imagine him fumbling around for a light switch. No, that was not fondness that warmed Harry's heart for a second.  
  
"What's the matter? Are you okay, Harry?"  
  
Although Louis couldn't see, Harry shook his head and let his tears start falling again, "No, Lou, my dad- he hates me, Lou, he really does, and I don't," He let out a sob, "It wasn't my fault, I swear it wasn't." He didn't even get to finish his thought before his pitch became too high at the end, so he cut off his talking and buried his face in his hands, letting more and more tears come out from seemingly nowhere.  
  
There was a silence on the other line, and Harry wondered if Louis had just hung up by now.  
  
"Why don't you come on over, love. I have the house to myself this weekend, so I can make you a cup of tea, okay? Just, please. Come over," He asked.  
  
"Are you sure? It's so early, I-I don't want to be a bother or anything."  
  
Louis chuckled, "Harry, you're never a bother. Come on over. I'll make us both some tea and you can tell me what's wrong, okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Okay."  
  
"Wait, Lou?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Can you, like, stay on the phone? While I walk to your house? I just. It's-"  
  
"Of course I will." The sentence was so short, yet so sweet and full of light that Harry could just take that one sentence and bundle it up in his arms to have and to hold forever.  
  
Harry didn't even bother to change from his pajamas as he snuck quietly out of the front door and made his way over to Louis' house, at the end of the block.  
  
****  
  
Harry was sitting on the couch on Louis' living room, holding a cup of tea in his large hands as his sobs quietly subsided. Louis plopped down on the couch next to him, glasses perched on his nose, as he waited for Harry to speak.  
  
He rubbed his hand soothingly down Harry's back, leaving a heat trail with his fingers, "What's the matter, love?"  
  
Harry bit his lip firmly, setting the tea on the table in front of him and putting his head in his hands again, shoulders shaking. Louis let out a puff of air, and then gripped Harry firmly by the shoulders, pulling him in so that Harry was clutching the front of his shirt, had against his chest. Louis let his arm trace calming patterns up and down Harry's arm. They sat like that for a few minutes, Louis just letting Harry release all of the sadness or anger or pent-up whateverthefuck, not even caring that his shirt was getting wet.  
  
"M-my dad, Lou," Harry finally started after a few minutes, "He, I just came home and- and he keeps blaming me, and I-I don't-"  
  
"Wait, slow down. He blames you for what?" Louis' tone was so soft, that Harry wouldn't mind just listening to him talk for a few hours.  
  
Harry took a deep breath, satisfied that his eyes seemes too dry to produce more tears, "My mum died when I was little. About seven. He always says it's my fault." His voice cracked slightly at the end and God dammit, what was he just thinking about his eyes being too dry for tears?  
  
Louis hugged him tighter, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head, "Harry."  
  
"I don't think it was my fault-"  
  
"Of course it isn't," Louis stated sharply, "How could you be to blame? You were seven." After a few more moments of silence, Louis squeezed Harry's shoulder, "It isn't your fault, Harry."  
  
Harry sighed into Louis' chest, breathing in the smell of fresh tea and warmth. Whatever that means.  
  
The next sentence came so quiet that Harry thought Louis didn't hear it until the grip around his shoulders tightened, "He hit me."  
  
"He hit you," It was more of a statement than a question. Regardless, Harry nodded.  
  
"What the fuck do you mean he hit you?"  
  
Oh. Okay. Harry was not exactly expecting that sentence to ever make it's way out of Louis' mouth. He almost looked mad, and Harry wasn't exactly sure why. His eyes were colored a darker shade of grey, not as bedazzling or bright - but duller, somehow. Harry would be lying if he said it didn't scare him.  
  
He just shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing big, suddenly regretting bringing it up, "He- it wasn't anything to big. He just slapped me. It's not a big deal, he was drunk-"  
  
"It's not a big deal?! Harry, yes it is a big fucking deal! Your father fucking hit you in the face and you're not gonna fucking do anything about it?" Louis snapped. His face was an odd shade of grey that Harry only sees occasionally except this was frightening, discomforting, and quite unnerving. Harry didn't like it and he wanted the other Louis back immediately.  
  
Harry pushed himself away from Louis so that the gap of distance between them increased somewhat, "Well, what the fuck was I supposed to do?"  
  
Louis seemed at a loss of words, "I don't- I-" he paused, running a hand over his face, and the color in his face seemed to fade, returning back to the normal, pretty shade of grey it usually was.  
  
"Hazza, I'm sorry. I'm - please come here," He held his arms back out, and Harry didn't even hesitate before letting himself be folded back into Louis' arms. Louis stroked his hair soothingly, and it was nice. Harry would normally fall asleep like this, but his mind was far too active to do any type of sleeping, though his limbs were begging to differ. Louis shifted a few times, and then put his hand gently ong Harry's hip to guide him into a different position. He was confused as to what Louis was trying to accomplish, but as usual, didn't put up any fuss. He would follow Louis to the ends of the Earth, really. Sometimes it scared him as to just how fast and how _hard_ he fell for Louis. They had known each other for a total of eight weeks, yet they were obsessed with each other. Harry loved it, though. He liked to imagine that Louis did too, and sometimes he didn't have to imagine. Because it was there. In his eyes. He saw it. He couldn't see color, but he could see Louis. He couldn't see "red" or "blue" or "green" or any other color people mentioned in poems and sonnets and TV shows and books. He couldn't see those. But he could see Louis. And when he was with Louis, he wasn't constantly reminded of how much of a disadvantage he was at. Louis never commented on the color of anything, or if he did, he didn't make it awkward by giving Harry a side glance and wondering how he felt about it. He always played it off as cool, and sometimes Harry didn't think he was missing out on anything. But then he came back home to a colorless flat with a lifeless dad and a black and white (technically not white but he didn't care) room.  
  
Those were the times he felt the most out-of-place. At his own home. Yeah, school was shit, but so was his living situation. What a sick world.  
  
Louis finally seemed content to stop squirming when Harry was straddling Louis' lap, arms around his neck, as Louis' rested on his waist.  
  
"Can you show me where he hit you?"  
  
Harry nodded and pointed to his right cheek. He wondered why Louis wanted to know, why it was important, but then Louis was leaning forward and pecking it. Alright. Platonic. Yeah. This was totally _bro dude pal platonic._  
  
Nevertheless, Harry's eyes fluttered shut, and Louis didn't exactly pull away.  
  
"How does it feel?" Louis asked after a second.  
  
Harry had to snap himself back into reality, "Better."  
  
Louis hummed contentedly as if that was the answer he was looking for, and Harry was sure he was going to make Harry go home now because it's still really early, but then Louis kissed his cheek one more time. He started kissing a trail more and more to the side until he kissed right at the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry was completely frozen with anticipation and he was pretty sure Louis was the same way.  
  
"This okay?" He asked, his lips still against the corner of Harry's mouth.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said, slightly embarassed at how breathy his voice was already. He felt his face go hot when Louis chuckled lightly, commenting on how it was cute when Harry's face got red.  
  
_Red,_ Harry noted.  
  
He wanted to remember that because, _Red must be the color of love._  
  
Louis' lips dusted over Harry's, so that in less than half on a centimeter, their lips could connect. Harry found himself growing hot all over at the thought of his and Louis' lips sliding together. Not that he hadn't thought about it before, but. Still.  
  
Without much of a warning, Louis did lean forward, letting their lips actually connect. At first, they were so dazed by the contact (well, Harry was at least, this was his first kiss, give him a break) that neither of them moved. Only after a few seconds did they finally start sliding their mouths together, sharing breath and sharing lust. For a few minutes, they did just that. Kissing until Louis brought his hand up to cup Harry's jawline and pull his face closer, thumb stroking gentle touched along his jawline.  
  
Their mouths went slightly open, not tongues yet, but just mere experimentation. Harry decided he quite liked this.  
  
They finally parted, mouths wet and tingling with the sensation of _you,_ as they stared at each other.  
  
"I've been wanting to do that for awhile," Louis admitted quietly, as if he didn't want the walls to hear. His didn't move his hand and his thumb never stopped moving and Harry thought that he could stay like this forever, wrapped up in Louis' gaze, and never have to do anything ever again.  
  
Harry brought their lips together once more before stating a smiple, "Me too."  
  
They kissed once more, this time letting their tongues have a bit of a go. If was absolutely maginificent and Harry had never felt anything like this before. Maybe it was because of the lack of sleep, but he had never felt so warm and so fuzzy on the inside than he did right now.  
  
They reluctantly parted once more, Harry's eyes scanning the clock behind him. It was two fifty. Wow, time passes quick.  
  
"It's really early," Harry pointed out, still in a bit of a haze from Louis' lips.  
  
"Do you want me to go?" Louis frowned at that, his thumb faltering in it's ever-so-soothing stroking pattern.  
  
"Do you want to go?" He asked.  
  
Harry quickly shook his head, which made Louis' gaze soften and relax a bit, his thumb picking right back up, "Then stay, please."  
  
Harry immediately obliged, and Louis' arms wrapped around Harry's wait, strong yet soft at the same time.  
  
"I quite like you," He whispered.  
  
Harry leaned his forehead against Louis' and sighed deeply. They most likely were the sappiest couple of blokes, seemingly straight out of a rom-com. Right now, though, neither of them could be bothered to care.  
  
So rather than thinking of anything else, he merely connect their lips again really quickly (he'll never get tired of that, will he?) before whispering back, "I quite like you, too."  
  
Maybe it was possible for the world to brighten up a bit. To still seem chipper with all nothing but blacks and greys. Well, Harry didn't know if that was entirely possible, but if it was then it happened. Because he never had seen the world such a bright color before. Although, technically it wasn't color. It wasn't. But, at the same time, it _was._ Because he didn't need "green" and "orange" and "pink" to see what everyone else saw. He just needed a new perspective. Something to ground him and give him what he didn't even know he'd been missing. Luckily, Harry found that something. And bundled up in his arms, he decided that he never wanted to be without that something again.

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, concerns and requests are always welcome! Thanks for reading, all of you wonderful people :)


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